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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23888080">Caution Around Baking Bards</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/addib/pseuds/addib'>addib</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Witcher Short Fics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baking, Can be read as gen or slash, Ciri is a little feral, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Not Beta Read, blame the Joey Batey baking video, give Ciri a childhood, it does not go well, jaskier tries to bake a cake, the great Witcher bake off, we die like witchers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:47:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23888080</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/addib/pseuds/addib</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier baking is never a good idea.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Lambert, Eskel &amp; Vesemir (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Vesemir, Lambert &amp; Vesemir (The Witcher)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Witcher Short Fics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Caution Around Baking Bards</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The joy of being at Kaer Morhen in the winter was the fact that Jaskier was able to see Geralt in his home and Ciri got a steady home life for a few months. Well, as steady as a keep full of Witchers with too much energy could be. The kitchen where he was working had seemed to attract his Witcher and his child surprise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier knew Ciri’s birthday was coming up soon if it hadn’t already passed. He had played at most of her name day feasts to the great ire of Calanthe. As he was searching through the pantry though, he began to wonder when </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> birthday was. The pair had traveled together off and on for almost two decades and the topic had never seemed to come up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had only mentioned his birthday offhandedly once near the beginning of their relationship. But he didn’t like to celebrate it, and Geralt had never seemed to notice. Twenty years though, it must have come up at some point. Poking his head out of the pantry brought the view of Ciri trying to flip her knife, like how Lambert would when he wasn’t paying attention. Geralt was patching up a piece of armor. As good a time as any to be nosy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geralt dear,” he called. “I know our lovely princess’s birthday is coming up, but when, pray tell, is yours?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know,” was the huffed reply he received.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eh, don’t really buy that,” he stepped fully back into the kitchen to place his hands on his hips to send a look the Witcher’s way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know. Wasn’t exactly old enough to remember when I was handed off to Vesemir.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But Lambert and Eskel know theirs,” he truly hoped he never met Geralt’s mother. He may truly throttle the woman for not giving two marks about her son.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lambert knows it’s in the heat of summer and Eskel drinks a pint for his at the first tavern he comes across after the melt.” Geralt was looking at him now. His brooding face was giving an honest effort to show but the tiny furrow between his brows gave his Witcher away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t know yours?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A knife found its way into the wood beside Geralt’s arm, Ciri’s hand releasing the hilt as she clambered onto the countertop. She huffed out a sigh, showing her royal childhood, as she considered Geralt for a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” she didn’t turn her head to address him. “Geralt and I share a birthday now. Make two cakes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s face of absolute betrayal was wonderful to behold. Jaskier turned around and finished getting the last of what he thought were the ingredients out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So dearhearts, if we want there to be a celebration tonight I need to know your cake preferences,” he grinned at them over his pile of presumed ingredients.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ciri can go first,” Geralt said, unsubtly nudging the princess closer to the bard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, just have fun with it. Put bugs in it,” she said twisting a lock of long blonde hair around her finger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmmm. Sure. Bugs. Got it,” Jaskier nodded sagely before turning to his Witcher. “And yours?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t care.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on Geralt! You have to have a favorite cake,” he dramatically flung himself onto his pile of ingredients.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t like cake, then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok. Sure. But say… a wicked horrible witch… say Yennefer was threatening to kill me unless you told her your favorite cake. What would your answer be?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d let her have at it if it meant…,” Geralt quickly cut himself off after receiving a sharp kick from a very small foot. “Sponge.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful! And what flavor?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care Jask.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine, I’ll pick,” Jaskier huffed as he started pulling bowls down from cupboards. “We’ve got that lovely helmet thingy to start with.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He truly did try to sound like he knew what he was doing. Jaskier had been raised a viscount, but that did not give him baking skills. Even living on the road with Geralt for so long wouldn’t enable him to bake a cake. Both Ciri and Geralt knew this and recognized that their afternoon was going to be spent trying exceptionally hard not to laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah fuck it. Geralt, where’s the uh… um… baking pan… thingy,” Jaskier called as he pulled his head out of a cabinet where he was searching. Geralt did not rise to help and did not bother answering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! We need eggs. Always have to have a lot of eggs.” The pair watched as Jaskier flung full eggs, shell and all, into the bowl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sugar seemed to be next on the agenda as Jaskier whirled about the kitchen and managed to pick up a container filled with white powder. Melitele help them all though, as it came to be salt but wasn’t recognized until a hearty amount had found its way into the bowl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Awww cock. That’s… that’s gone bad. That’s definitely gone bad,” Jaskier muttered, pulling a rather disgusted face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the poor bard went to pick up a bit of flour it seemed that it did truly want to get all over him. Ciri held a fist in her mouth, making a valiant attempt to stymie her giggles. Geralt was just clenching his fists and thinking through potion lists to stop laughing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where,” Jaskier grabbed another bag of something to fling half the contents into the bowl, “does flour come from? It’s not potatoes. Is it? But it certainly is though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt had seen his bard in many different lights. But this ridiculously over the top chaos was new. And then he glanced at Ciri. Her eyes held true mirth in them since the first time they had met. She didn’t seem to have a care in the world other than to watch her bard make a cake in the worst manner possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier could be heard in the background with a mighty “we’re fucking in business now,” as he began stirring the… Not quite dough. But not not dough. Dough adjacent. He began stirring the dough adjacent to the situation with a cucumber that he had found somehow. Because the last time Geralt had seen a cucumber had been before they had come up the mountain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Things were falling and clattering sounds filling the background noise as Geralt watched his daughter be filled with delight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then Vesemir entered the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is all going to be fine if we just don’t panic,” Jaskier said turning back to face his growing audience, recently picked up bowl in hand. And with little more than a breath long pause, turned and grabbed the open bottle of wine before absolutely chugging from the bottle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s nice wine. That’s some good wine,” Jaskier slid the bowl down the counter a bit to stop just next to Ciri.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I should hope so, bard. Saw that vintage bottled myself one hundred and fifty years ago next summer,” Vesemir's words cut through the oddly fun mood that the kitchen had taken on. Jaskier slid to a stop in the middle of the floor. Ciri hopped off the counter and began to straighten her clothes. Geralt just looked like a chastised child, though he hadn’t technically done anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get out of my kitchen, the lot of you.” The trio quickly left, Geralt dragging Jaskier by the scruff of his doublet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At dinner that night had Eskel losing more coin than strictly necessary to Geralt and Lambert teaching Ciri a new knife trick. Jaskier had begun to rise to gather his lute from beside the fire when Vesemir cleared his throat from the head of the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just a minute, bard. We’ll be needing music but not until after cake.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please tell me you didn’t use that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaskier created,” Ciri asked as she slid her knife back into its sheath and slid in to sit across from Geralt. He and Jaskier had given a valiant attempt to stop her from bringing weapons to the table. It didn’t work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No I can assure I did not,” Vesemir said as he left the room. Jaskier made offended squawking noises until Vesemir reappeared with a large square cake covered in simple icing. Two small candles sat on opposite sides of the square. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without either having to be told and with no singing or wish-making, the pair blew out their birthday candles.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello hello hello. </p><p>I blame Joey Batey for this entirely.</p><p>I hope you like it because I am working off of my 5% working knowledge of The Witcher.</p><p>Toss a comment or kudos if the urge so hits you.</p><p>Have a lovely day (and go watch Joey's video for some serotonin).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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